Dinner at the Blackwood Mansion

When the maids set the crystal goblets down, they made a soft clink sound that was hard to hear over the roaring fire. The dining room was hauntingly quiet as dangerous glares were fired from both sides of the table.

With Maria sitting beside him, Mr. Forbes fiddled with his napkin at the left side of the table, his eyes moving back and forth between the shiny silverware and his son's dark figure across from him.

Maxwell's face looked like a storm stuck between two granite hills. His dimmed eyes were narrowed and his jaw was clenched. Annabel sat next to him with her back straight as a board, a bright smile on her face to try and ease up the tension in the room.

A feast that was yet to be devoured was left on the table as a silent gift to the growing tension. Under the light of the chandelier, a roasted chicken that smelled like rosemary and wine shone like gold.

The full chicken looked crispy and scrumptious, showcasing the cooking skills of the ladies. A circle of roasted veggies,